


Miscellaneous Tomb Raider Drabble

by NoHolds



Category: Tomb Raider & Related Fandoms, Tomb Raider (Video Game)
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-01-07 13:05:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1120151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoHolds/pseuds/NoHolds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Island, Lara Croft is as broken as a functioning person can be.</p>
<p>Lara Croft outgrew her fear of the dark years ago.<br/>Some things are never truly forgotten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Afraid of the Dark

When I was a child, I was afraid of the dark. I thought there were things in the shadows, monsters in the wind.

My father, with his stories, he did nothing to discourage my image of monsters under the bed. He always told me monsters were real.

I grew up. I stopped needing a nightlight, as we all do.

But then I met a monster. I met the shadows under the bed, the voices on the wind, and they reached through the centuries to try and kill me and my friends.

We won. But they took a few of us first.

And now?

Now I am sitting on a boat with my back pressed against the wall because I cannot close my eyes. I refuse to confront the nightmares I know are lurking in my dreams, and the lights are off and I swear that was something, I heard something, I know it.

Sam offered to share a room with me, of course, offered to talk whenever the dark started creeping in, but I cannot force myself to put my feet on the floor because there might be something under the bed.

I can feel cold, dead hands on my skin. My heart is racing, my hands scrabble for weapons I am not allowed to have. My skin itches all over, sweaty and prickling under the bandages.

The shadowed corners of the room buzzsaw with the static of total darkness, and I can’t help but imagine eyes or guns or teeth flashing where I know there is nothing.

“Go to sleep, Lara.”

My voice is very, very small, and the cabin seems huge in the dark. I cannot turn on the light. I cannot get up, there might be something under the bed.

When I close my eyes I hear breathing at my ear, I hear footsteps in the hall, I feel hot, rancid breath on my skin, breath like rotted meat and death.

The walls are safe and solid, and when the door creaks open I almost stop myself from jumping.

The floor creaks, and my veins light up like a Christmas tree, all ripsaw energy and anxious, pins-and-needles flight reflexes.

“Lara?” The lights flick on.

It’s just Sam, of course it is, and I swallow my adrenaline and work my jaw.

“Sam. You should be sleeping.”

She looks at me, eyebrow raised, and the gesture is so familiar it makes me homesick for the days before.

Sam sits next to me and with the lights on it’s just a room and the shadows are just shadows, and my coat on the back of the chair is just a coat.

“Lara, you okay sweetie?”

I want to say a thousand things, but what I say is “I’m fine, Sam.”

And she looks at me like she can’t believe I thought she’d fall for it.

“You need your sleep, Lara.” She puts a hand on my arm, and her fingers are so cold, and she startles a little, a tiny jump that sets my heart racing and the irrational, reptilian part of my brain searching for what scared her.

“Sweetie, you’re burning up.”

“Hm?”

I can feel my heart drumming staccato in my chest, all cicada bursts of nervous energy.

She looks me in the eye, serious and angry and concerned. 

“Lara, I’m going to ask you again, and this time you’re not going to lie. Are you okay?”

I was never a very good liar.

“Just a little nervous.”

She puts two fingers to my neck and feels my pulse thrum against my skin like it is searching for an escape route.

Another raised eyebrow.

“A little nervous?”

I don’t know what face I make, but Sam gives me a smile that’s all fear and no comfort and wraps me in a hug I’d needed all night. She is cool and solid and I rest my chin on her head and try not to fall apart.

“Let’s go for a walk, okay?”

The hall is dark and long and I am still irrationally, desperately afraid that a monster lurks beneath my bed.

“I’m really tired, Sam, I-“

She pulls back to look at me.

“Go to sleep then.”

I consider the nightmares. I tell Sam that sleep does not seem like a particularly good idea.

“Thought so. Come on. You need some fresh air.”

“I’m fine, Sam. I can take care of myself.”

She takes my hand and pulls me to my feet and my heart rate spikes and I stagger and I can feel myself go deer-in-headlights stiff, eyes wide, and this awful, cloying sympathy fills Sam’s face.

“It’s okay.”

“I know. I can handle myself.”

A sigh. We do not talk until we reach the deck. The air is cool; the stars are clear and unfamiliar. The Grey skies of the triangle are still visible on the horizon, storms lashing an empty island.

“You want to tell me what you were doing up?”

I look at her, all wounded pride and worried looks.

“It’s stupid.” I don’t want to tell her because one of us needs to keep it together and I can’t ask her to do that.

She says nothing. Doesn’t ask. Just wraps an arm around my waist and watches the ocean with me.

I imagine the storms on the horizon reaching for us, pulling us back.

“You know, Lara?”

I look down at Sam.

“I think you’re going to be fine.”

Sam was never a very good liar, either.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A nonsensical Lara/Sam drabble from Lara’s point of view that jumps around a lot and accomplishes little.

The room is ship-cabin tidy. All tight spaces and stacked shelves and nothing has gone to waste. The bed fits into the desk fits into the dresser and it all just works. There is nothing here that is unneeded.

There is room for everything I have, because I have next to nothing, and with everything she has it’s cozy and overstuffed and with both of us in here there is hardly room to turn around and it fits.

I know part of her wants a grand house somewhere, all sleek glass or soaring ceilings or seven bathrooms, but here I am content, here I can sleep without fear of a break in, and so she stays here with me.

I think she thinks she owes me, and nothing could be more wrong. Every minute, every second she is saving me and she doesn’t even know it.

The room is small enough to hold my pieces together, and she understands without my saying anything. We both of us have the money for something grand, but right now all I can afford is this tenser bandage of a home and she understands.

I wonder how long she’ll wait until she realizes that I will never be whole enough to fill a mansion. I wonder how long she’ll stay.

Her kisses fill the cracks of the room with light, press into the whole four feet of floor space and make our tiny, cramped house a tiny, cramped home, and I am selfish enough that I don’t tell her I will always need the crutches of complete surroundings.

In this home, this tiny, packed-tight has-everything home, I know that I am a fixer-upper.

I think she knows, too, but she was always one for impulse purchases, and I wonder how long before she realizes that some things she can’t repair.

I wonder how long she’ll stay, after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That wraps up the log of already written drabble I have. I suspect the next thing I put out will be an actual project.


	3. Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam's point of view, helping Lara through a bad day.
> 
> \-------------------------

            I came in the door with an armful of groceries and the memory of sun still on my skin, energetic and actually _comfortable_ for the first time in weeks.

“You wanna go out and see a movie or something?”

You’re sitting on the couch, back to me, not even trying to _look_ like you’re listening.

“Lara? There’s the sequel to that one you liked-“

I don’t even get to finish my sentence. You snap like brittle wood, like stretched beyond breaking point.

“No.” Your voice is a whip crack, all venom, all sharp, focused rage.

“No?” I do my best to be gentle, quiet, to try not to startle you. I feel like a kid again, coaxing skittish animals from under furniture with soft words and praying I won’t get scratched.

“I just-“

            When the anger fades it leaves tears and confusion swimming in your eyes. You look so out of sorts-biting your lip, brow furrowed. You used to look like this when you were studying, a line between your eyebrows, lips pursed.

            Everything you do now reminds me of what we were before, and I used to think nostalgia was bittersweet, but now I know that there’s no sugar to it. It’s all vinegar, all black coffee, a cruel reminder of things scoured away by saltspray and wind.

“I just-“ You say again, voice cracking.

“I just want to sleep, or maybe cry, and-“ You shake your head, looking more helpless then I’ve seen you in a long time.

“I don’t know what to _do_ with myself anymore.” You look like hitch hiking with none of the adventure, all apprehension and short one roadmap, lost and hopeless, tears welling over.

            I make a noise in the back of my throat that is entirely involuntary, curl my arm around your shoulder.

“I know, sweetie.” I know you well enough to know that this brand of sympathy is suffocating to you, but I also know you need it. You push yourself into my side and try to choke back tears, clutch at me like lifeline.

            I know the feeling.

            After the island, my bad days aren’t cry-and-watch-cartoons fixable, anymore.

            Now they’re days like the one you’re having right now, days where it’s obvious the world’s the same but you’re not anymore, days where trying to slot yourself back into the puzzle chafes and itches, days where the parts of you that don’t fit buzz like static and nicotine craving.

            Days where I can feel every traitorous piece of myself, days when I am painfully aware of every inch of my skin, itching and burning and not how it should be, days where my teeth don’t seem to fit right in my mouth, days where I _know_ something is wrong, but I can’t quite place what.

            I know the vague, _off_ feeling of a mismatched return to normalcy better then I know my own skin, and I know you feel it, too.

           So I let you sleep (and maybe cry) against me and on this, a day where you don’t seem to fit anywhere, I give you a place in my arms.

            And for a moment, the pieces fit, and all is, if not exactly _well_ , at least a little more bearable.

            And sometimes, that's enough.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a while, hasn't it? Enjoy!

**Author's Note:**

> Figured it was high time I used my Ao3 account. Trying to figure out how it all works before sticking my big project up here.


End file.
